


Strangers in the Night

by pearypie



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Admissions of Love, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, quiet confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-31 00:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12120372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearypie/pseuds/pearypie
Summary: I once imagined you loved me a little bit, if you’ll excuse the presumption.Modern AU: William, Frances, and a midnight rendezvous.“I would have stayed with you.” He looked at her—eyes tracing the aristocratic sharpness of her cheekbones, the cleverness of her mouth and the elegance of her Grecian nose. “I would have stayed.” He repeated, feeling half a fool as he does so. “If you’d asked. I would have stayed.”





	Strangers in the Night

"I wanted to stay with you."

She exhaled. "I know." 

"Why didn’t you—?"

"I couldn’t. Not after everything, not after mother died and Vincent suddenly had every reason to depend on me. I couldn’t leave New York with you, fly to London like some dream—"

"I wasn’t asking you to." His hands grip the steering wheel. "I would _never_ ask you to."

"It was your career, William. Always your career." Her tone held no animosity, only understanding—simple, plain understanding because she had always been able to comprehend the complexities of life, to distill the varied truths of the world into a simple equation of logic that Will himself followed. She understood him and—

How rare and wonderful it was to be understood, even for just a moment.

His knuckles turn white from the force of his grip. He hadn’t wanted her to leave. Not then, not _now_ —it was why their visits were succinct, staccato events. Too brief to remind him of everything that came before this. 

"The possibility of chance. In statistics even the definitive answer is never wholly concrete. The slim percentages of other sums also face the distinct possibility of one day becoming reality. Not a very great possibility, but one that could be taken into account if circumstances allowed for it to be.” His voice was quiet but firm. Its presence was very much like William himself—expedited, reasonable, perfectly controlled.

She caught a flash of his dark emerald eyes. A brief, unforgiving glimpse as her heart stuttered half a measure. She twisted the white mink gloves in her hands, stomach hollow with anticipation but—she was Frances Phantomhive and she did not shy away from confrontation. 

“You want me to hypothesize?” She turns to look at him again. The cut-glass jaw and thinned lips. The Grecian nose and sharp, handsome features that constituted his cold, distant profile. 

From the corner of his eye, he could see her looking at him. “Can you?” He did not mean it cruelly but the words cut deep, as if she’d failed to block an attacker’s obvious lunge-strike.

“I’ve never been one for fantasy or illusion.” Her voice was strong but soft, as if being held together by ivy roses. “But I dream. I,” she hesitated but then squared her shoulders, pushing the words past her lips, “I still do.” Without pause or preamble, Frances forced her head to turn, to look at the handsome profile of his voice and she remembers when that was all she used to do when they drove together, traveling from New Haven to Manhattan with Chopin playing softly on the background radio. “I thought about leaving so many times. Of visiting you in London and simply choosing not to come back.”

Will exhaled—sharp and unsure as Frances spoke.

“It was superficial, really. During those first few years when Alexis was traveling and I was in New York, I used to sleep with one your shirts tucked beneath my pillow. The white button-up with the folded edge. Hugo Boss, do you remember? You wore it to your first interview and you came back and you _smiled—_ “

“Frances.”

“And I kept it. I lied when I said I didn’t know where it was. How could I not? It was my apartment and I cleaned it from top to bottom but I lied. I didn’t want to give it back, I wanted to hold onto a piece of you and think that _maybe,_ ten or fifteen years later, I’d surprise you with it when the children were at school and you might smile for me. Really smile because it was such a silly, foolish thing to do.”

“Frances.” And _god,_ she so relished the way he said her name—soft and softly controlled, as if he were fighting to maintain his composure between those two syllables.

“Yes?”

He slowed down—it was an empty backroad anyway—before he stopped completely, pulling up to the side.

He killed the engine.

“I would have stayed with you.” He looked at her—eyes tracing the aristocratic sharpness of her cheekbones, the cleverness of her mouth and the elegance of her Grecian nose. If Frances had lived in the days of philosophy, they would have proclaimed her Athena and William, agnostic as he was, would have worshipped her like all the rest. “I would have stayed.” He repeated, feeling half a fool as he does so. “If you’d asked. I would have stayed.”

Frances closed her eyes. “I know.”

Quiet settled around them as Frances felt the vehicle start up again. She opened her eyes to see Will’s open hand pressing against the arm rest.

Without giving thought, rhyme, or reason for her mind to reflect on, Frances slipped her fingers between his, pressing their palms together.

And together, they drove on into the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Crack!ships galore lmao one of the many one-shots that never made it to the Hamilton inspired series. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this :)


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